


Leap of Faith

by fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn



Series: A Stitch In Time [15]
Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Sex Toys, Vampire Sex, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raziel, Janos, and some badly-needed alone time ...</p><p><i>The Ancient, his back to Raziel, was just stepping down into the water, leaving his robe puddled behind him on the tiles. He paused at the scrape of cloven, hard-edged foot on stone, turned his head just slightly, his profile and the white at his temples now visible. “Raziel.” The word was warm; Janos’ accent made the tones seem held in the front of the mouth. “Please. Join me, if you would.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Leap of Faith

The Ancients’ bathing chamber was occupied.

That was unusual, for this time of the night -- the Ancients tended to be active throughout the day, the early morning, and the evening, but during the deadest hours of darkness, when the stars were diamond-hard in clear summer skies, even Aptera’s great central temple stilled to quiet and its winged inhabitants slept. All save one, apparently.

Raziel paused at the arched entrance, humidity and steam a pressure against him. The one thing Haven had offered, in unending abundance, was privacy -- days might easily pass without contact from another real creature, and no activity was of pressing need. Here, the requests for Raziel’s attention were constant and often of critical importance. The clan and its activities required care, of course, but for the most part those affairs ran quite smoothly, thanks to the centuries of experience of Anani and the other clan elders. None of them, however, were versed in dealing with the Ancients, whose customs and mores, attitudes and aptitudes, continued to surprise.

Sometimes, Raziel had to wonder if the winged vampires meddled purposefully, or merely by accident.

In any case, Raziel’s hours entirely to himself were few and far between, and frequently had to be be stolen, lest his guardians -- both Razielim and Ancient -- attempt to trail along after him. The quiet and repose of these heated pools at night was a welcome moment of peace. Disappointing, perhaps, that another found them so, too.

The Ancient, his back to Raziel, was just stepping down into the water, leaving his robe puddled behind him on the tiles. He paused at the scrape of cloven, hard-edged foot on stone, turned his head just slightly, his profile and the white at his temples now visible. “Raziel.” The word was warm; Janos’ accent made the tones seem held in the front of the mouth. “Please. Join me, if you would.”

Raziel hesitated, suddenly uncertain. The things that lay between them; words yet unsaid, secrets and sacrifices as yet unrevealed to *this* Janos .... They invoked within Raziel a certain ... reverence, perhaps, that was granted to no other--perhaps not even Kain.

“I would not wish to disturb your solitude,” Raziel said with careful courtesy, his eyes drifting over the ebony sheen of those great folded wings, the deep azure lines of shoulder and thigh half-obscured by slow upward spirals of steam. As much as he would wish to accept Janos’ offer, he was also acutely aware that Janos had also been hard-pressed by his own duties of late, both as Reaver Guardian and as a sire--Vorador, especially, was not a particularly biddable creature. It seemed a poor reward to intrude upon him in this rare moment of respite.

Janos smiled a little. “Our kind is little designed for solitude, I think,” he said, nothing in his voice hinting of the monumental irony promised by the course of the future, “and yours is welcome company.” He stepped down, into deeper water -- but hesitantly, charily. Janos was not a highly trained fighting man, but his movements normally evidenced the unconscious and native grace common to all Ancients. After a moment, he relaxed, sheaves of flight feathers dragging swirling traces through the still water as his wings spread, cupped. As the cloak of black parted, the cause of Janos’ hesitation became evident. The cool blue skin across his shoulders and back was patterned with scrapes, with darker purple bruises like five-fingered shadows.

Raziel frowned, and stepped closer despite his misgivings. “Those wounds are fresh. It seems I must take Tekoa and Castillan to task for their inattention, if Vorador is still allowed to injure you so ....” He suppressed the momentary urge to reach out, to spread talons over that marred skin as if he might wipe away such blemishes with a mere touch. Which was, of course, utter folly--Raziel, like all of his Kainite brethren, was far better equipped to injure than to heal.

Still, such injuries should have been attended to. Raziel turned, glancing over the discarded tangle of Janos’ robes--seeing no bottles, familiar or otherwise, that might have contained a potion or other medicinal agent, he continued, “If you do not wish a healer, at least allow me to administer a potion?”

“Hn?” Janos blinked, turned his head, angling his scraped shoulder for inspection. He twisted, stretched to run talontips across the marks. The gesture made his wing dip and spread further, but even still the broad sheaf of black feathers got in the way -- the Ancients, though otherwise quite flexible, could not effectively reach their own backs. “I... yes, if you wish. It would be my honor. I did intend to visit the infirmary, but....” Janos let out his breath slowly. “There may be salve amongst the oils, in the second niche, just there.”

“As for your acolytes, however, the case is very much to the contrary,” Janos continued gently, “for both have been of very great assistance. I must thank you for appointing them. Though...” a faint note of incredulity crept into his tone, “is it indeed true that fledglings will not sleep? At all?”

Disdaining the indicated salve for the more expeditious route, Raziel opened the dimensional pocket with a small flare of magic and withdrew a potion, glimmering blue within a leaded glass flask. His own hoarded stores were growing slim, taxed by the a year of warfare and the long journey that had followed it. Even so, he counted them well-spent, and to spend a potion to ease Janos’ pain was a far more noble purpose than most.

Moving towards the pool, Raziel hesitated--realizing he could not easily reach Janos’ back without having the Ancient step out of the warm water. “It is true, though only in part,” he replied, considering the problem. It took but a moment to make his decision--setting aside the flask for a moment, he disrobed, unbuckling the few pieces of armor, greaves and gauntlets, that he still wore, and shrugging out of the rest. The task was made far easier by the fact that his robes were of Ancient make; the heavy fabric, enchanted to unnatural strength as it was, was infinitely easier to remove unassisted than breastplate or hauberk.

“Fledglings sleep only infrequently, and their elders as well--perhaps once a fortnight, in order to restore the body and heal any lingering hurts. It is not quite the same as what humans would term as such, in truth.” Raziel took up the flask and moved to the water’s edge, stepping down into the waiting pool. Here, at least, there was no poorly-concealed flinching by watching Razielim at their Lord’s cavalier embrace of the once-deadly liquid. The heat was a shock against cool flesh--then it sank in as he moved deeper, filtering inward to warm his very bones.

“Ah.” Janos nodded slowly. That explained Vorador’s occasional -- and welcome -- periods of inactivity, though the creature’s repose resembled a meditative stillness more than actual sleep. He’d been concerned the first time it had happened, though neither Razielim assistant had seemed worried. Janos watched with interest as Raziel employed an unusual variant on a dimensional cantrip to produce a healing draught, a far stronger unguent than the more commonly available salves. But he glanced aside, respectfully, as the Divine one drew off his armor and stepped into the water.

Unlike the smaller pool in Raziel’s temporary abode, these ones effervesced, a constant flow of air through the heated waters, as fine as the bubbles in champagne. They ghosted across his skin, soft as the caress of down, a tickling contact against the sensitive membrane of Raziel’s wings and the softer flesh of his inner thighs.

Janos turned his back as Raziel approached, baring his own wings and tender skin, perfectly and unhesitatingly trusting. From this distance, it became evident that fistfuls of his glossy flight feathers were missing, though new ones were already emerging, still wrapped inside their pin-like keratin sheaths, to replace them. “Tekoa assures me that we shall soon be able to trust Vorador in the presence of humans,” Janos offered, with some relief... and perhaps a hesitant hint of pride. Tekoa behaved as if Janos should be prideful indeed; he spoke as if Vorador’s ‘progress’ should be an unending source of gratification. It remained unclear to Janos why he could or should take any credit for the fledgling’s behavior... but, he had to admit, it would be an unadulterated blessing if Vorador should cease to slaughter the servants at the slightest opportunity.

“So soon?” Raziel said in surprise. Such control in a fledge so young was unprecedented--but Vorador was proving to be extraordinary in more ways than one. Raziel could not help but wonder if this talent was something unique to Vorador alone, or an innate gift granted by his Ancient sire ... and if it were the latter, would it extend to any other vampire of Janos’ creation?

Not the Janos was likely to make any new fledges any time soon. The Reaver Guardian was better than most of his peers in concealing his dismay at what he had wrought ... but his misgivings were still evident, if one knew where to look.

Taking up one of the soft washing cloths that had been left beside the pool, Raziel uncorked the flask and dabbed a small amount onto the fabric. Swiping the cloth carefully over the injured skin of Janos’ back, he watched in satisfaction as the scrapes and bruises began to vanish under the healing draught. “Vorador is proving to be a unique creature indeed--most fledges are not nearly so adaptable at so young an age.”

“I suspect -- ah...” Janos gasped, a soft vocalization, as the cloth touched his back. Beneath the enchanted fluid, the darker purpled places faded, the course of the injury reversing itself, and smoothed to perfect clear-sky blue. The knotted muscles beneath, long- and unconsciously-cramped, relaxed. His wings trembled as Raziel moved on to another spot, and Janos reached out, curved his hands over the opalescent tile that rimmed the pool, to steady himself.

Where traces of it soaked through the cloth, the minor holy magic of the healing potion crackled with angry impotence against the thick chitin of Raziel’s armored hands. “Is it, then, advisable -- “ Janos bent his head, exhaled, spread his wings further to expose more sore places to his Divine One’s ministrations; the great black-feathered planes spanned nearly the breadth of the pool. “Perhaps a caution should be issued... against approaching, or interacting with... the youngest amongst your kinsmen?”

Raziel continued his ministrations, ignoring the slight burn of the potion. Working around the grand sweep of ebon flight feathers was simple enough, with Janos’ assistance--but the downy feathers where wings met azure flesh were more troublesome, often needing to be brushed aside to allow Raziel to dab potion upon the half-healed scrapes that lay beneath them. Eyes lingering upon the bent curve of Janos’ neck, the cabled planes of his back, Raziel said, “It would be a reasonable precaution, I agree. There are not even a handful of fledges left to the Razielim, now--few survived the depredations of the other Clans. Those that remain shall no doubt be sequestered until their sires are assured of their obedience. Regardless, a warning may help prevent further misunderstandings ...”

Janos shifted his weight as Raziel stroked aside the soft breath feathers. The skin to which each barb attached was finely crinkled, paper-thin, and clearly sensitive, to judge by the faint shiver that every touch wrought. The Ancient endeavored to lift his wings higher -- the cool curve of tile before him, and the weight of water-logged feathers, hampered movement. “Other... mn. Other Clans?” asked Janos.

Such fragile flesh, even framed with feathers--it brought back memories of Haven, and others who had allowed deadly talons to caress unarmored skin. None of those, however, had the broad ebony sweep of Janos’ wings--nor the history that was destined to be etched in the wounds upon that blue skin. Healing such trivial wounds would not prevent the greater ones that were to come, much as Raziel might wish for expiation.

“There were ... will be,” Raziel corrected himself, “Six clans, all descended of Kain’s progeny ... my brethren.” How much to say? As much as he trusted Janos, he could not risk unweaving the skein of history .... “After my--” _fall_ “--exile, my Razielim became outcast ... and sensing weakness, the other Clans moved to take what had once been ours, in land and slaves as well as lives.” The true reasons were, of course, far more complex--it had been jealousy as much as greed that had driven Zephon and Turel, cold-blooded practicality that had refused to allow Melchiah and Rahab to remain neutral as Clan turned against Clan, and sheer bloody-minded aggression on the part of Dumah. Not that Dumah had ever required much reason to spill his kinsmen’s blood ...

It still hurt to think of his brothers’ betrayal. They’d had differences enough over the long centuries--but had fought together even so, back to back, hunting and laughing in the glory of their blood and their power. Even in that great company of predators, Raziel had believed that he had at least commanded his brethren’s respect, if not their love--even in the face of Kain’s displeasure.

In the end, however ... perhaps that had been too much to ask.

It was possible that some of Raziel’s bitterness communicated itself in tone or touch, for Janos was silent for a long moment. Another priest would, no doubt, have hastened to reassure Raziel that his loss and his anguish were part of God’s plan -- could be nothing else. The fates were cruel in their testing, but in the context of Divine will, suffering was of no ultimate significance. That understanding was the sole reason so many of the Ancients yet lived, for without trust in the divine, how many could have survived their heartbreak? And yet...

And yet. Janos knew too well how bitterly old losses, the absence of friends returned to the wheel before their time, could ache. “The sacrifices of the past, I think, never become less painful,” Janos observed quietly, twisting to look over his shoulder. “But without them -- yours and those of your kinsmen -- would you stand here now?” Or have been elevated outside the cycle of destiny and rebirth... the wheel of time itself.

Raziel’s mouth twisted in a smile that had more self-mockery in it than humor. “Perhaps not ... or perhaps I would have simply been driven down a different path, all to the same outcome. Fate might be a fickle bitch, but I have found she does not easily relinquish what she has claimed.” Raziel’s own ‘free will’, and all the twistings and turnings he had taken with it, had afforded him little in the end, after all ... and only time would tell whether this latest attempt to snatch some measure of victory for his clan, if not himself, would succeed.

Taking advantage of Janos’ shift in position, he ran the potion soaked cloth down the line of the other vampire’s ribs, beneath the one wing, wiping away the mottled remnants of even older bruises that had been disguised by folded feathers. Most of Janos’ injuries had already disappeared under the potion’s influence, but there was something both sensual and calming at the feel of whisper-soft skin and feathers underneath his hands that made Raziel reluctant to move away.

“Perhaps so, and yet you challenge her, do you not? For another throw, a better throw, against your destiny...” Janos had become boneless under the sweeping touch, eyes closing, and now he moved just enough to facilitate Raziel’s access, lifting one wing a little higher or arching his body as touch directed. He exhaled hard, pressed back against the cloth as Raziel passed it over a tender place just beneath the arched and jointed shoulder blade, where wing met body. Raziel placed a hand, bare, on the Ancient’s shoulder to steady him, and through that contact... hummed the black trace of lightning, a faint electric shiver, a taste of ozone across the roof of the mouth. “It is a kind of tenacity we do not possess, as a people,” Janos continued. He blinked as Raziel paused in his ministrations. “Shall I attend you?” he asked.

A slight tremor ran over Raziel’s skin at Janos’ words.

 _”The coin is still turning, Raziel ...”_

Caught off-balance by the memory of his sire, Raziel shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself--I find that sometimes I dwell too much upon the past. Oft to my disadvantage, I am told.” He stroked the soft skin under his palms, enjoying the still-living warmth. “My tenacity ... has served me both well and ill, and often to the detriment of others. Vorador--I ... regret that I forced you to sire him so precipitously. It was necessary, but ... my presence may have skewed the natural order of things in this as well.” Who knew what Vorador’s original history had been? Had Raziel always been destined to interfere in Vorador’s making--or had the presence of the Reaver once again warped history’s course off true?

“Hn. Of what purpose regret, Raziel?” Janos murmured. Raziel’s increased contact strengthened that faint impression of fulmination, of lightning-shot premonition. It was not an aura, precisely, for Janos did not brandish it as a Kainite would. It was a far more yielding cloak of power, subliminal, and warmer, as the Ancient’s skin was warm with breath and life. Janos himself was not visibly disappointed by Raziel’s refusal -- the sharp-taloned vampire’s touch was intoxicating. The rough scrubbing stroke of the bathing-cloth played counterpoint to the smooth, stone-hard sweep of the backs of Raziel’s talons. And the talon edges, sharp and catching but carefully employed, soothed long-ignored itches most satisfyingly.

“But I do, of occasion, wonder to whence your... pertinacity might lead,” Janos said, and there was warmth in his voice as well, a kind of temperate amusement. “Word reaches me that... ah --” Raziel’s talons passed in a sandpapery scrape down the velvet hollow between thick bands of wing muscle, and Janos drew in his breath sharply, and then lifted that wing higher, pressed himself back, inviting the same touch again. “That your acolytes now train themselves in tactics to tear the winged from the skies -- and that Vivec and Gana do teach them.”

“This is true--yet your informants mistake the purpose behind our actions,” Raziel said easily in reply. Almost all of Janos’ injuries had vanished now, leaving flawless azure skin behind. Dipping the cloth into the warm water, Raziel stroked it between and underneath those arched wings, relishing every shift and indrawn gasp. Janos’ obvious pleasure had not escaped his notice--and obligingly, he stroked talon-tips lightly between the bands of unyielding flight muscle, marvelling at their strength.

“Vivec ... he has told me of the fate that awaits any Ancient who succumbs to their bloodthirst in battle. He named them Fallen, and believed death was the only mercy he could grant them.” Despite his enjoyment, Raziel wished their positions were different, that he might see Janos’ face, and measure his reaction. “I believe there is another way. The battle-thirst--we call it bloodrage. And those that fall prey to it can be called back from the pit of instinct by those closest in blood--a sire, or line-sire, most often.” There was a certain amount of grim amusement in the words as he added, “A solution I also believe is within the grasp of your people as well--as long as we can keep your enmaddened warriors from raining spell-wrought death upon us from above.”

That such tactics could also be used in other, more open battles, was a given, but hardly a matter worth consideration as far as Raziel was concerned. Even given the Ancients’ skill at magics and the potency of the Pillars, the Kainite vampires might win a war of attrition, being able to replace their numbers in a way the Ancients could not. However, the outcome would be bloody indeed, and unlikely to favor either vampire race.

Janos bent his head, considering -- a task made difficult by Raziel’s unpausing ministrations. The last time he had been groomed with such attention... had been some forty years past, during the early days of that most terrible war, before.... But that did not bear thinking upon -- of what purpose regret, indeed. “You are determined upon this course? For it imperils your disciples; that much is without doubt, and you have snatched their lives from the jaws of fate once already. And as for the Fal... h-ah!” The Ancient arched his back with a gasp, arms shaking where he braced himself against the tiles, as Raziel found a deeply knotted place, and with effortless strength, dug his knuckles into the bunched muscle. It was surprising, but not exactly painful. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Janos blew out a shuddering breath, and then widened his stance in the water a little. “Pray, continue, if you will.” He swallowed. “As for the Fallen... whether they can be saved or no, shall you not permit them the peace they so desperately seek? We all return to the Wheel. What matter to you, or yours, if they go now, or in a few decades?”

Raziel knew he stood little chance of convincing Janos of the folly in allowing his people to fling themselves into the maw of the Elder God. However, that did not mean he could not offer the choice to those who would take it. “As you say, Janos--we all return to the Wheel. But that does not mean we must allow your people to be denied the opportunity to go at the time and place of *their* choosing, and not because it was deemed ... expedient.” And if some few chose life instead of a hopeless death ... then perhaps the effort would not have been entirely wasted.

“As to my clan--they are warriors.” Raziel continued, kneading deep into the densely layered flight muscles of Janos’ back with skilled hands, using the strength of his palms and the blunt edges of his talons to search out the knotted areas deep within. “My concern for their welfare would be ill-served by coddling them from all injury ... far better to allow them to cut their fangs upon a new challenge, even if true battle is denied them.”

“Very well,” said Janos, after a moment, nodding slowly. There were other advantages to Raziel’s course too -- among them the fact that if fewer Ancients died now, the infrastructure required for Raziel’s future questing could be completed faster. But there would be resistance to the Divine One’s intent. Many Ancients had lost all their loved ones to the madness of blood -- that the Fallen should only now be given a second chance was an aching unfairness. “In that case, you must have whatsoever aid we can provide. If memory serves... mmn...” Janos drew a harsh breath, gasping as the careful pressure eased long-held tensions. “I... a pair of instructors will not be enough; your kinsmen will need more practice than they two alone can provide. I shall arrange for others, with a range of magical competencies, to assist. What else -- ah!” Janos shuddered, wings jerking back, as Raziel stroked over a bony protrusion and the small connecting muscles there.

Caught off-guard by the reaction, Raziel found himself buffeted by the inadvertent flare of Janos’ powerful wings. “My apologies, Janos,” he said, keeping talons well away for fear of causing further harm. “I did not know that area was so tender. I did not hurt you too severely, I hope?” The action of those wings did not seem to be impeded in any way, but Raziel was hardly expert in such matters, and the differences between an Ancient’s pinions and his own were far greater than a simple lack of feathers.

Still trembling, Janos turned, one hand remaining on the tiles behind him for balance -- for the long and careful attention had left him relaxed and unsteady -- the other hesitantly reaching for Raziel’s shoulder. His expression was concerned. “No... no need for your apology, my child; I am not injured. It is a reflex action, nothing more. But where -- I struck you; are you...” Raziel did not appear to be bruised or even much bothered by the blow. Janos brushed at a few pieces of downy feather which, wet, had adhered themselves to Raziel’s pale skin.

Briefly confused as to the nature of Janos’ concern, Raziel could not prevent the minute shiver of reaction at that softer touch, a small thrill of sensation over skin already made sensitive by the heated water around them both. Then, understanding, he gave Janos a tiny smile. “I am well, Janos. You need not worry--you will find I am difficult to injure.” Which was perhaps the understatement of this century, if not a few others besides.

“It seems our wings are more different in structure than I had anticipated,” he continued, giving the other man a small and rather wry smile. “And of course, the framework of yours is rather better hidden ...”

Janos blinked. “You do not have an airfoil pressure center?” His gaze drifted to one of the curved spars, talon-thick and tapering, which extended above Raziel’s shoulder, the membrane closely folded along its length. That was strange, for the Hylden’d had such an anatomical feature, though it differed from the Ancients’. It was difficult to imagine how wings might be constructed without that center of stabilizing muscles and deep-seated nerves, without the twin bones that extended the length of the muscles’ lever and made possible great strength in every sweeping downbeat. Janos tilted his head a little, applied a lightly guiding pressure to Raziel’s shoulder, a silent and subtle request for him to turn. “Might I...?”

“An air--what?” Raziel echoed, baffled. “This is the first I have heard of such a thing ...” He turned at Jano’s urging, the outer tips scissoring downward across shoulders and spine as his wings half-unfurled to better accommodate the other vampire’s inspection. Glancing over his shoulder, and dropping one wing slightly so he could view Janos’ face, Raziel confessed, “I have never taken much time to inspect the nature of my wings, in truth ...” There always seemed to be far more important concerns, whether they be flying, or fighting ... or falling.

“We do have mirrors. Perhaps, hmn...” the creamy-dappled spread of membrane was only superficially similar to the Hylden’s naked wingspread. The architecture of Raziel’s wings was somewhat more ornate, the Hylden lacked the small claw-like spars and strange-locking joints, their workings half-visible under thin skin that looked like velveteen. Felt like it too, when Janos stroked his talons there. The wing reacted, a small movement, a twitch, perhaps a flinch. Janos tilted his head, considering, and then let his touch drift lower.

“You know there are two major bones, here, like unto... second shoulder blades, correct?” Janos asked, laying his hands lightly over the base of Raziel’s wings, the heavy plate-like wedges of bone and tendon and muscle. That much was easily visible. Attached to the underside of it was a stiff, finger-thick strip of cartilage, which helped keep the membrane close to Raziel’s body quite taut, during flight -- the Hylden’d had a similar false spar. “But a little lower, there should be another center, a second pair. We call them aarath’ra. They form a... second pivot, of sorts.” Janos slid his talons down, encountered nothing but the ridged-curve of Raziel’s spine. Most strange. “A connection point for sensation, a means of controlling the tension across the wing’s airfoil... ah, there.” Not lower than the main connection, but rather beneath it -- Janos pressed his talons into the thin-skinned hollow just below the blade-like protecting bones, feeling gently the second, pincer-like structure beneath.

Raziel stiffened, his breath hissing inward in instinctive reaction as a bolt of sensation shot like lightning down his spine, his wings jerking in a convulsive flinch that for once had nothing to do with fear. “Unh!”

Thankfully it was easier now to have others at his back, touching his wings. “I ... can feel them, I think ...” he said, somewhat breathlessly. And it was true--he could feel the shifting of the bones that Janos had so named, deep underneath protective layers of armored skin and banded muscle, even if he had never quite known what they *were*. “You said they were called arthra--?” Janos’ taloned fingers were damnably distracting as they pressed and probed with knowledgeable care, and Raziel found himself hard-pressed to conceal his reaction to that touch. Gathering his scattered thoughts together into some semblance of coherency, he asked, “What is this ... air-foil that you mention?”

Janos carefully, curiously, pressed his fingers deeper, pausing whenever Raziel drew a harsh breath through his teeth. His exploration did not seem to pain the Divine One, however, and Janos knew full well that contact in that tender place could produce strange, sometimes breathless sensation. “Aarath’ra, yes. Ours are more widely spread, one near the base of each...” he paused, searching for the right word in a language not overly concerned with the workings of flying creatures, “...each main cluster of muscle, just where the down grows thickly.” But they were not deeply hidden, were covered only by feathers and a little muscle. The Hylden’s were similarly placed, but were not protected at all, and were correspondingly much less sensitive.

A little concerned, Janos turned to lighter touching, more subtle stroking for a few moments, as Raziel made a small gasping sound. “Airfoils are... imagine that you are descending, in a long, shallow glide. You see that you must gain a little altitude, but can sacrifice some speed. What happens? You do not need to expend effort to climb. Instead, you simply...” In illustration, Janos set his thumbs parallel between the aarath’ra, and with slow kneading motion worked the leathery pads of them firmly between the thin bones, easing them apart, altering the lay of a multitude of attaching ligaments and tendons.

Stifling another involuntary sound as Janos’ thumbs pushed deep into the base of his wings, Raziel shuddered as one wing shifted, angling slightly in reaction. “I ... think I see? It allows one to change the angle of the wing, to cup more air, or less?” Janos’ other fingers were splayed across the fine-grained skin usually well-hidden beneath folded wings, stroking idly in a tantalizing counterpoint as the Reaver Guardian focused on feeling the hidden joint.

“When I gained my wings, I remember--at first I could only glide, and that even only from a greater height. Flying seemed so effortless for the birds--it was infuriating that I could do naught but find inventive new ways of falling.” It was an old memory, those precious few days after he emerged from his Change; that all-too brief time he had stolen in order to assuage his hunger and to explore his strange new limbs. It had been a moment of triumph and apprehension both, that first taste of the sky.

Janos chuckled softly. “In this, I think, we are no different. None gain the skies easily, and it oft takes years of practice, and instruction, to develop real proficiency.” Raziel, if he was the first to be gifted with wings, would have had no other to aid him. It was a sobering thought. How could a fledgling learn flight properly, without instruction? Janos gradually released the pressure on the deep-hidden node of nerves and muscle, permitting the wings to relax, but continued the light soothing stroking. His gaze lingered over the dappled drape of Raziel’s wing membrane, noticing other disturbing signs -- sections of rough skin, several scars which had not been worked and loosened. Raziel’s wings might be different from an Ancients, but they still required some of the same attention.

“A moment,” Janos murmured, leaving Raziel just long enough to reach for a jar of some thick, milk-scented cream, set with others invitingly close to the edge of the pool. “Hold this, if you will?” Janos asked, pressing the opened container into Raziel’s talons, and then dipping his own into the substance within. He moved again to Raziel’s back, the water sloshing around his waist, and spread his hands over the pale skin once more. “The aarath’ra does far more than help angle the wing, but yes, you were entirely correct,” he said, working the thick butter, warmed in his hands, into the thin, sensitive skin there.

“What is--?” Raziel began, then broke off into a low groan of pleasure, dropping his head and mantling wings further outward as Janos’ deft fingers soothed aches he hadn’t even known existed. Ziliah had tended his wings like this, once--but that had been over a year ago by Raziel’s reckoning, with little enough time for such indulgences since.

And even if there had been--Raziel doubted any of his progeny would have near the same expertise in the art of preening as an Ancient. Janos’ fingers, while not as crushingly strong or heavily taloned as those of a Kainite vampire, were still more than strong enough to work past the resistance of iron-hard muscle over unyielding bone. And yet, in softer, more tender places, his touch was gentle, skimming over the membranous flight surfaces of Raziel’s wings, working in the thick lotion with small, circular strokes that threatened to turn the elder vampire into a boneless puddle. Arching into the touch, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, Raziel said in token protest, “I did not mean for you to play nursemaid, Janos ...”

“Oh?” You wish for me to desist?” Janos asked, his gentle smile audible. He laid a soft-leathery palm on the outer spar of one of Raziel’s wings, applied pressure, urging the wing half-closed. The limb resisted direction at first, Raziel’s muscles tensing -- it was close to the same place Kain had once laid far sharper talons. But the touch was light, benign and very patient, and gradually the spars relaxed. Janos eased the wing half-closed, just enough to reach around it, as if in embrace. He smoothed one hand flat on the underside of the wing, the other above, and with talons separated only by the thin sheet of membrane, began to work at the puckered edges of scar tissue. “Neglect can lead to further damage, or to loss of speed or maneuverability. And grooming one’s own wings properly is nigh impossible, Raziel. Even, I think, for your kind.” And for the Hylden, as well. Janos would certainly not relish having to maintain his own wings alone.

After several minutes, when the membrane between his palms felt nearly as elastic as the rest, Janos reached to dip his talons again in the small jar Raziel still held. “Besides,” he murmured, spreading the palmful of thick oil between his hands to warm it, “reciprocation is fair play, is it not?” The next scar he selected for attention crossed over a wingspar, and Janos cupped the joint there with great care.

“Mmn ... I certainly cannot complain as to the result,” Raziel said languidly, enjoying the rare sensation of lassitude, not to mention the luxury of trusting another in such attentions. Arching his back slightly, he flexed his free wing, relishing the cool touch of the air upon newly-anointed membranes, while leaving the other carefully still, mindful of Janos’ attentions. “I have grown too confident in my ability to heal, I suppose. Perhaps it would behoove me to ensure that some few of the Razielim are instructed in the intricacies of caring for wings as well ....” It was a pleasant thought, and had an element of practicality as well as indulgence--for while Raziel was the first to gain his wings, he was unlikely to be the last.

Janos’s fingers slid over the rough-edged line of a knotted scar--the result of a Hylden glyph-bolt that had not only seared vampiric flesh but nigh-severed the bone itself--and even Raziel’s languor could not prevent the instinctive flinch. Clamping down on old fearful instincts, Raziel bowed his head in submission, allowing Janos to smooth the wing back into its old position. It was ... not quite the same as it had been with Kain; there was no edge of danger, no razor-edged possibility of spilt blood. And yet, with Janos ... it did not feel wrong either.

Janos’ grip was careful and certain as he began to work at the edge of the scar, brow furrowing as he saw the way the membrane had healed -- wadded, rather than smoothed flat. That had been a danger for the Hylden, as well... if one of them had been left to heal like this on their own, that individual would likely never have flown again. But under Janos’ patient attention and over the course of many minutes, the angry, raised ridges of membrane began to smooth, as if Raziel’s very skin somehow knew its proper place. Fascinated, Janos drew his fingers along the length of the scar, following the arch of bone and joint, testing, feeling.

It brought back memories for Raziel, certainly -- of being struck from the air, of tumbling helplessly over the roaring mass of the Hyldens’ summoned demon armies, the screaming blast of pain as he’d tried to cup the air to break his fall and felt the wind instead hiss through the bolt-melted holes in the membrane. But also far older memories, of battles when he was young, of taking terrible injury, and of Kain’s heavy hand. Fledglings did not always heal perfectly, even from simple slashes -- the process was too slow, too new, errors could result. It was a sire’s duty to monitor the healing, to do what was necessary... and to ensure that the experience of pain made a fledgling more cunning in combat but did not cloud the creature’s capabilities.

How many times, before Raziel had learned to do it himself, had Kain dug the arrowheads from his hide... and how many times had Raziel been disciplined for flinching -- or for hesitating when faced with archers? Or, far more often, for assaulting them too eagerly, without cover or plan....

It was those same memories that had silenced any sounds of pain or protest, keeping them stifled within Raziel’s throat. Silence in the face of one’s wounds was a lesson learned early and often; it was a foolish vampire who drew attention to any weakness. But here--the only pain Janos’ hands upon his wings had summoned were the sparkings of old injuries making themselves known, easy to ignore. Far more insidious was the pleasure, and the comfort of another’s attention and care. Such submission was a luxury rarely afforded to a clanlord--and most especially to Raziel, firstborn of his brethren.

Yet in this place, these stolen moments, there were no others to judge, nor to take advantage of any perceived weakness. Just the slap of water against the tiled sides of the pool as Raziel pressed unthinkingly back against Jano’s taloned fingers, tilting his head to bare the side of his throat in silent supplication.

Janos moved closer as Raziel relaxed -- he knew too well how a thorough preening could make one forget oneself, and he little wished the Divine One to lose his balance in the water. The closer embrace made it more difficult to attend to the dorsal side of Raziel’s wings or his back, but presented other opportunities. Janos reached around, under Raziel’s half-spread wings, found the faintly-fluted seams where the presently-loose folds of membrane met the subtly armored skin of his flanks. Janos pressed the smooth back of a talon there, one at each side, a light touch at first to nudge the cartilaginous spurs aside, then a firmer, rocking pressure. The rest of his fingers smoothed over the layered muscle that crossed Raziel’s ribcage, stroking. The Hylden had liked that, once, long ago, before the wars and before the hatred.

It was... it had been a long, long time too since Janos had attended to another, like this, with such personal concern. It was warming, familiar, recalled a kind of yearning he could not name.

A purring sort of growl escaped at Janos’ new caresses, and Raziel pressed back into them, luxuriating in the feel of Janos’ body against his back, the heat and soft scrape of feathers against his skin. “That is ...” he murmured, his lethargy rapidly giving way to the hotter wash of arousal. Despite the array of creatures he had taken to bed, none had ever focused their attentions in that particular spot; an area sorely neglected, he was now discovering. His wing-membranes were sensitive enough on their own to require a careful hand, but beneath them, at the intersection of ribcage and pinion, was a well-concealed bundle of nerves that sent a cascade of sparking heat down his skin at every stroke of black-taloned fingertips. “...I did not know that could feel so pleasurable ...”

“You enjoy that as well, do you?” Janos murmured, interested and very pleased. He wondered if it were possible that Raziel was more sensitive than were the Hylden. Nevertheless, the tight-bound centers of nerves and small muscles near the wing were vital to performance in flight, and Janos would be remiss indeed not to attend to Raziel’s. And... and it was important that Raziel should understand the nature of his own wings more thoroughly, was that not so? “Then perhaps...” abandoning the spot on Raziel’s left side, Janos slid his arm around Raziel’s shoulder and across his chest, drawing their torsos together, the Ancient’s skin hot against Raziel’s back. The embrace was steadying, the splay of leathery and slightly edged fingers across Raziel’s twitching muscles soothing.

Janos’ right hand slid along the tender intersection to where the thick length of bone, the wing’s primary supportive spar, wreathed in corded muscle and tendon like steel cable, met Raziel’s body. “...here...” Janos murmured, delicately seeking out a small crease between groups of muscle just to the side of the aarath’ra. It was not difficult to find, was similar in placement to one of the Ancients’ sensitive places, where Raziel’s hands had so recently lain. Janos ran the tip of a talon there, and then applied a firm, kneading pressure.

“...Janos!” Raziel stiffened as a bolt of pure sensation shot down his spine, leaving his skin tight and tingling in its wake. With that one touch, Janos had banished any lingering lethargy, leaving him achingly hard and wanting. It was an effort to think; to be mindful of the lotion he still held and to set it aside; then he reached backwards, pushing himself back into Janos’ embrace, arching against those taloned hands.

“Again ...” Raziel breathed, half-plea and half-demand. “I want to feel this ...” To feel Janos, strong and lithe, that rapid and still-living heartbeat against his skin, the dark lightning-snap of his power resonating along his bones.

Janos shivered at the feel of those armored hands upon his hips -- scraping, rough, the edge like the fine press of a razor all along the length of each finger, not just a blunted nail-like ridge at the tip of each talon, like the Ancients’ hands. It was clear how exquisitely God had wrought His Divine One for combat, for facing the tests he must -- for with hands like this, Raziel could literally never be disarmed. “Easy, Raziel,” Janos murmured, against the delicate point of the pale vampire’s ear, stroking lightly over his chest, wondering at the mail-like thickened sheets he could feel laying just under the skin. So many differences... and such beautiful similarities.... Janos attended again to the tender places of Raziel’s wings, touching lightly and then more firmly, simply for the exquisite pleasure of feeling the Chosen’s body seize against his....

Raziel’s head had fallen back, throat exposed... and Janos bent to it, eyes sliding closed, dark lips soft on high-white and silken skin....

The Reaver Guardian gasped, remembering himself, released Raziel carefully. “I... Raziel...” What had he nearly done -- and to the very emissary of God! He’d meant to... he had to... Janos swallowed hard, stepped back, wings slicked tight to his back. Even Vorador’s raising had not broken Janos’ calm equanimity, but there was real distress in his expression now. “Divine One, my apologies. I forgot myself -- and your place. I will go to ask forgiveness, and to summon a... to summon Ziliah, or --”

“....Ziliah?” Raziel said stupidly, thrown off-balance by the sudden change. His cock was aching, his skin tight with arousal and flushed with heat from the bath, and Janos’ sudden withdrawal made no sense. The Ancient could not lie about his own interest, not to ears that could hear the thudding of his heartbeat, the scent of arousal upon his skin. He turned, a little puzzled. “...you wish her to join us?” Admittedly, Raziel was not entirely adverse to the idea, but it seemed an abrupt addition to what had already been a perfectly pleasurable interlude ....

“...What?” Janos paused, confusion writ as clear on his face as lust was upon his scent. “I... you do not...” he straightened, slowly regaining his composure. “No, I do not greatly wish her presence,” he said, and was a little shocked to realize that it was true. “But without the presence of a female, this... this is not done.” It was, in fact, a kind of heresy, though the Divine One would surely know that. Oddly, the Divine One looked mainly puzzled, impatient... and glorious -- proportioned and powerful, strong from his testing and yet blessed with such responsive flesh, the tender places of which Janos longed to explore further... oh, so very tempting. “It would be an infertile coupling,” Janos explained, desperate to keep his mind from the proffered beauty before him. He could still taste Raziel’s skin on his lips -- a piquancy as subtle and as darkly sweet as the last moments of sunlight before the night.

Raziel blinked. “Infertile?” His expression was blank, uncomprehending. Standing there, erect and aroused, only to discuss ... irrational religious taboos? ... was hardly what Raziel had envisioned when he had made the decision to enter the pool. “Vampires do not bear children,” he pointed out, the words perhaps a bit more edged than he had strictly intended. “Unless--it is that you believe as some humans do, that sex between men is an abomination?” Raziel devoutly hoped not--it was difficult to envision Janos as narrow-minded and condemnatory as the human priests he had known, ready to damn anything outside of their own miserable little existence .... but he could not fathom what other purpose Janos’ rejection might have. And while it would hardly be the first time Raziel had been pushed away by a prospective partner, the sting of rejection--especially from Janos--was hardly a pleasant sensation.

That brought a faint expression of amusement, mingled oddly with pain, to Janos’ features. He lifted a hand, as if to touch the pale vampire’s shoulder in reassurance, and hesitated. “We did bear children, once.” Janos corrected gently, drew slow breath. “No, Raziel -- it is not an abomination. Most families are three -- two of one gender, one of the other. But we... were not a proliferate species, and the Wheel must turn. This was decreed by God... of whom you are the Chosen. And the things I wish to do to you....” Janos swallowed, let his hand drop.

Pairings of three? The idea was just off-kilter enough to give Raziel pause, but a moment’s thought brought to mind several observations that suddenly made a great deal more sense, given this new context.

“So God has decreed that sex is forbidden for his ‘chosen?” Raziel said, choosing to be amused. “I would have rather stringent objections to that, I am afraid....” He moved forward, deliberately slow, not wishing to spook his companion. “...if summoning a female is required to set you at ease, Janos, I shall raise no objection. But I must confess--” Raziel raised his hand, stroking the backs of taloned fingers down the line of Janos’ neck and over a broad shoulder, enjoying the play and shift of the heavy flight muscles beneath his touch. “ ---that I am most curious indeed about these things that you wish to do to me ....”

“No... but I --” Janos trembled finely as Raziel approached, touched him, a long caress, slicked with warm and scented water, backed with the cool chitin casing of the pale vampire’s talons. “But you...” he drew a harsh breath as Raziel’s hand ghosted down to his sternum, to where heavy flight muscles crossed and met. Raziel splayed his talons there, just as had Janos, finding the same pressure points Janos had so recently stroked. “You do not...” Janos pressed his own hand against his chest, over Raziel’s, his padded and leathery talons soft against the raised chevrons that crossed Raziel’s palm. “You do not think this... dissentive? Heterodox?” How could Raziel not? His was the living will of God, after all.

“Dissentive?” Raziel tilted his head. “In the grand scheme of things, where mortal creatures can be made immortal, souls interred within inanimate steel, and Pillars raised from the very foundations of Nosgoth itself ... I find it difficult to believe that any god cares overmuch about whom I take to my bed, whether male or female.” Especially as it pertained to siring nonexistent children!

He moved forward slightly, until he was close enough to feel living warmth of Janos’ body. Unfurling his wings, Raziel mantled them forward, cupping them around Janos’ own folded pinions in a concealing embrace. “Perhaps we should explore ... new doctrines?”

Janos’ body was heated indeed, flushed with desire, hot even against Raziel’s water-warmed skin. He lifted a hand, reached to draw his fingers over the side of Raziel’s face, touch ghosting over lips and jawline and delicately pointed ear. The Divine One’s skin was silken and very smooth, but firm, as if meshed links of armor subtly underlaid his flesh even here. “If this be a test, Raziel...” Janos murmured, drawing his nails lightly over the pale vampire’s scalp, marvelling at the satin sweep of hair, black as his own feathers, that framed that sharp-planed face. “...I fear it is one I shall not pass....” Raziel’s mouth was soft for all its severe symmetry; Janos wondered if it tasted like an Ancient’s. Gently cupping the back of Raziel’s head, Janos leaned a little closer... and found that it did.

Raziel made a soft noise low in his throat at the feel of Janos’ mouth upon his own. The delicacy of the other vampire’s touch was both pleasurable and strange to Raziel; returning the favor, he opened his mouth under Janos’ urging, sinking himself into the subtle velvet textures, the bouquet of taste and scent that was Janos’ kiss. Taloned hands skimmed downward, exploring the broad planes of chest and stomach, only to slide beneath those great wings to clasp Janos about the waist, drawing him closer. The subtle alignment of their bodies made Raziel’s arousal more than evident, his erection trapped between them, and while Janos’ need was not quite so evident, it was obvious the other man was not far behind.

“So strange ...” Raziel murmured against Janos’ mouth as the Ancient drew back for breath. “We are so dissimilar ... and yet kindred creatures all the same ...” He dipped his head, mindful of the other vampire’s relative fragility as he mouthed downward, along the line of the neck, tasting Janos’ azure skin with open, sharp-edged kisses.

“Ah...” Janos swallowed, throat moving under Raziel’s mouth. The pulse just beneath the skin was rapid and strong, the muffled rhythm of that singular heartbeat as familiar to Raziel as the unvarying flow through his own veins. The Ancient turned his chin away, relishing the open-mouthed kisses, each nibble drawing forth a new shiver, a softly panted breath. Janos arched his throat, a mute plea for more... and an inadvertent invitation to bite. And as he did, he stroked down over Raziel’s own hips, firm sweeping caresses, and then between their close-pressed bodies -- and wrapped his fingers slowly around Raziel’s erection. The Ancient’s nails were a teasing prickle, hot counterpoint to the softness of his palm.

Raziel gasped, arching as Janos’ hand closed over him. Succumbing to temptation, he nipped at Janos’ neck, biting lightly where the curve of the shoulder began, only to lave the shallow wounds with his tongue. The taste of Janos’ blood ... was utterly unique. Dark-shot and roiling with power, potent as that of any elder, yet suffused with a vitality that only living blood could provide; a bare mouthful was not nearly enough, and Raziel had to suppress the desire to bite deeper, closer to a vein where he truly might drink his fill. With a Kainite vampire, he might have indulged himself ... but this was Janos, not a bloodslave or other disposable creature to play victim to Raziel’s appetite.

With a purring growl, Raziel arched again into that grip, twisting his hips in a mute plea for more. Running his hands down the other vampire’s hips, he relished the play of taut muscle and skin underneath his palms, the downy feathers that protected the join of wing and back brushing with delightful softness against hand and wrist.

Janos gasped harshly as Raziel’s thick fangs opened his skin in two neat, shallow punctures, a sharp chastisement. “Wha--” he started, gasped again as Raziel ran his tongue over the wounds. There was pain in that too, but also... a slower warmth, a strange balance of hurt and bliss, the laving touch drawing forth sensation of which Janos had not known himself capable. The Ancient had taken wounds before -- from a Hylden’s poisoned bolt, from Vorador’s incautious grasp -- but they’d not ever felt like *this.* “What are -- “ was it a sacrilege, to so tempt the bloodfury, to feed from another? But Raziel had practiced something similar before, beneath the Nature Guardian’s gaze, and... and -- and then the Divine One drew his sharp-edged palms down Janos’ sides, slow long sandpaper caresses. So much raw and conflicting sensation! It swamped all higher cognition as the tide engulfs a candle’s flame. Janos yearned both to writhe into those touches, to jerk away....

The question remained unasked, and Raziel’s only answer was a purring growl as he savored the taste and scent laid out like a banquet before him. With questing tongue and lips he explored Janos’ lithe form, each inch of cerulean skin a new discovery to be savored. While the Ancient form was hardly unknown to him--not after Ziliah and Gana’s attentions, at least!--Janos was the first male Raziel had chosen as a bedpartner. There were differences, even in a species designed for flight; a somewhat heavier frame, broader shoulders commensurate with wider wings, a lean and rangy musculature almost entirely devoid of the softer tissues found upon the subtle curves of hip and breast in the females ... all combined to form an aesthetic Raziel found most appealing indeed.

Panting harshly, breath sometimes catching on a half-swallowed whimper or moan, Janos twisted under the razor-edged inspection, eyes wide. Overwhelming, practiced, avidly intent, making it so difficult to think or to act.... With one last squeeze, soft and tight, Janos withdrew his hand from Raziel’s cock, encircled the pale vampire’s wrists instead with suede-leathered fingers. He drew those sharp talons away from his skin, and then up. “Hold... hold this for me, Raziel,” Janos managed, breathing a few more words in the liquid Ancient tongue. And as he did, Raziel’s hands, guided above his head, met... something. It felt smooth and cool, was staff-thick and firmly affixed -- and yet there was nothing there. Nothing visible, save a horizontal shaft of empty air, around which the steam drifted.

Janos could not but wonder if his skin was aflame, or only seemed to be -- he felt oversensitized, every inch of him yearning for more... or aching with a multitude of tiny cuts too shallow to bead blood, he knew not which. “Hold here, please,” Janos repeated, the barest hint of command in his voice now, and waited until Raziel’s talons had curled over the force-bar. His touch was lighter, then, over Raziel’s forearms, shoulders. Wrapping one hand again in a hot clasp around Raziel’s erection, Janos drew the other to the pale vampire’s lips. “This bite -- is it meant for chastisement... or pleasure?” Janos murmured, not certain himself, his gaze tracing over Raziel’s shoulder to a place between the cords of the tendons -- a place mirror to where Raziel had placed his fangs.

Raziel could have overpowered Janos easily, but oddly enough, felt no desire to do so. It seemed a natural thing to allow his hands to be guided upward, to wrap talons around in obedience to that calm, low voice. “Chastisement?” he echoed, confused, even as he leaned unconsciously into that touch. “No ... it is no punishment, Janos. I did not think I bit so deeply as all that ...” Even now, he could barely see the wound--a tiny scratch in comparison to what Raziel was accustomed. Had he unwittingly hit a tender spot, and caused pain?

Janos traced lightly Raziel’s lips as he spoke. So very strange.... In lieu of answer, Janos tilted his head, slanted his own mouth over Raziel’s. The taste of the Divine One’s mouth was... different now, electrically alive, dusky like thunderclouds at nightfall. Hot, somehow: cinnamon and ozone, cedar smoke and fresh dew..... Janos’ grip upon the pale vampire’s erection tightened unconsciously, as he reveled in that taste, but the clasp of his palm was as soft as a human’s, lacking entirely the razored edges and gripping marks that could so easily transmute pressure to pain. “Is that...” Janos withdrew to breathe heavily, “... how I taste?” A notion worthy of awe, if true -- Janos had never drunk of a human before, and this was utterly unlike the vitae obtained from the bloodfountains....

It made him wonder... if Raziel tasted the same.

Janos smoothed his free hand slowly over Raziel’s shoulder, the heavy tendons that underlaid the curve of his neck. “Then a bite, just here...” he touched a spot, the mirror to where Raziel had laid fang upon him, “...you would find it... pleasant?”

Raziel’s expression was both distracted and pleased as he arched a little into that light touch, unconsciously tilting his head in silent affirmation. “Oh yes,” he breathed, his eyes heavy-lidded and intent. “Very pleasant indeed, I assure you ....” Janos’ tentative explorations were a maddening torment, pleasurable as they were, and Raziel groaned low in his throat, his hips thrusting himself even further into the other vampire’s grip, relishing the feel of those ebony-taloned fingers, covered in skin as soft as deerhide.

Raziel’s impatient thrusting was met with a still-tighter clasp, Janos’ palm as slick with the water around them as it was suede-soft. Preoccupied, Janos stroked the pad of his thumb lightly over the head of Raziel’s cock, a gently exploring sweep at first, then as Raziel groaned for more, a firmer, rocking pressure. And as Janos did... he laid his lips gently upon the place proffered to him.

The taste of Raziel’s skin was rich as chocolate, intense as the sun over desert lands, sweetened by the blood he could sense just beneath. He wanted it, suddenly, wanted that taste -- a temptation as strong as those of the first days of the curse, when panic and monstrous hunger had ripped his species apart. It felt wrong, to set the tips of his fangs lightly upon Raziel’s skin, at a seam where plated armor jointed. But this time... this time, he knew that it was possible to bite and not to kill. And this time... Raziel very clearly wanted it, too.

Janos meant to be gentle, to be careful. But then the first light pressure drew beads of blood, and they filled his senses, heady, overwhelming. The vitae from the fountains was a thin gruel, Raziel’s blood... a banquet, reminiscent in subtle ways of the fruits of the earth once enjoyed by the Ancients, yet wholly unique, wholly Raziel -- and Janos’ fangs sank deep. Unbidden, the Ancient’s great black wings, far broader than Raziel’s own, spread, mantled, as a hawk covered its captured prey.

Used to far more savage demands upon his flesh, Raziel did not flinch as those fangs sank home. Instead he pressed forward, arching his head further to one side, baring his throat in a gesture of supplication as the bright flare of pain was transmuted into the pleasure of Janos’ mouth upon his throat, swallowing deep of Raziel’s blood and power. Sheltered under those wings, Raziel found himself closing his eyes in order to better savor the gift that Janos offered freely; this stolen moment, free of decisions or demands, in which all that was required of him was simply to *feel*. Janos’ fangs in his throat, the rub of lean muscle and silky skin against his own, and especially the exploring hand that held his aching flesh captive ... these things all combined in a way that any mad alchemist would envy, sensation transmuting into a rising pleasure far greater than the sum of its parts.

Janos shuddered as he drank, overcome with the intensity, subsumed by white-hot bliss. So *old* -- power accumulated over aeons, a blackness in a way that seemed both to encompass and to transcended the night itself, a swirl of distant stars through that Stygian heartcore. A few long moments, and then a rising need for air forced Janos to slowly withdraw his fangs. It was easier than he thought it should have been -- he felt somehow replete, satiated, as if Raziel’s thick black blood fueled in a way the vitae from bloodfountains could not. The Ancient could see, with sudden shocking clarity, how right Raziel had been: when this bloodrite was entered into willingly by both sides, there was little danger of slipping into desperate rage.

The Ancient lapped with care over the place he’d bitten, was startled to discover that the wounds were utterly vanished, as if they’d never existed. Janos pressed his lips there, a benedictive kiss. “Thank you... thank you,” he murmured, stroking with newfound awe down Raziel’s side, to the base of his half-folded wing. The liquid in his belly seemed to radiate, warming, flushing him through with quickened life. Such fine and rapturous instruction as that deserved reward, did it not? His fingers ghosted to a sensitive place he’d found, at the junction of wing membrane, and pressed there, until he found a firm rocking caress that made Raziel gasp. “Tell me, Raziel... tell me what you want....” Janos whispered, and slid his hand further, to the base of the plated wingjoints... and yet, the first sensation did not abate. It moved with Raziel as he did, neither impeding him, nor permitting an escape from the relentless tide of pleasure.

“Wh-what ....?” Raziel had pressed back into that touch, relishing the feel of fingers pressing against the nerve-bundle hidden underneath his wings--only to jerk a little in startlement as he felt yet another touch slide further, teasing the sensitive base of his wings. “Janos ...?” There was no mistaking it; the Ancient’s grip around his cock was possessive, hard and hot even under the warmed water, as were the strokes upon the tender skin hidden behind the bone-plated base of his wings--so where had the third touch come from? Had Janos somehow sprouted additional limbs? The absurdity of the thought made him smile, before another expert caress made him keen low in his throat.

“I ... I want more,” Raziel managed to finally gasp, bucking helplessly upward, heedless of the taloned fingers upon the most vulnerable portions of his body. “Want to taste you, to sink deep ... need to feel you in me. Please, Janos ...”

“More?” Janos murmured, bending to capture that faint smile with his own mouth. He withdrew his talons from Raziel’s wingbase, the aarath’ra, summoning another force-hand as he did. The jointed ball of magic clung to Raziel’s skin, stroking and pressing just as had Janos’ own hand. “Another, perhaps...?” he asked, something of Raziel’s amusement having rubbed off. With one last, firm stroke down Raziel’s cock, Janos switched hands there, reached to the membrane seam of the pale vampire’s other wing, and called another copy of the cantrip. The magical hand pressed close, touching, stroking. Tasting Raziel’s gasps, Janos drew his own talons down, over hip and the smooth-planed muscle of the pale vampire’s ass.

Raziel writhed, taloned fingers flexing helplessly around their invisible support of solidified air, as Janos’ touches seemed to multiply until it felt as if he were surrounded from all sides. Each stroke was a new assault upon already heightened senses, each touch upon wings and groin left no room for a moment’s respite, but pressed him ever upward, painting fiery ecstasy over his skin with a gentle kind of ruthless persistence. Raziel keened quietly into Janos’ kiss as his wings shivered in helpless desire, flexing and furling underneath the shelter of the Ancient’s ebony pinions.

 _So good,_ he Whispered, wanting to share his pleasure, yet unwilling to interrupt their kiss for words. _Janos ... drink deep, take what you need of me, anything you want ..._

The Ancient, shuddering with a bliss not entirely his own, at last was forced to gasp for breath. The link Raziel had thrown wide between them -- so open, so trusting -- bled an arterial flow of sensation. Such exquisite sweetness... and such desperate yearning, as if the Divine One knew only a kind of love that * _took_.* “Raziel...” Janos breathed, stroking ever so lightly over the sweep of the pale vampire’s hair. His dark lips found high-white skin, feathering kisses where he’d bitten, and then more over the corded arch of Raziel’s throat. The Ancient shifted, his knee a subtle pressure between Raziel’s -- asking, never insistent. “I will not hurt you...” Janos whispered, palm cupping one heavy-muscled plane of Raziel’s backside, talon tips ghosting down the crease between.

Raziel shuddered, then shifted, widening his stance and pushing back against those fingers in unmistakable invitation. _I would not choose other than this, even if I believed you intended me harm ... some hurts are worth the pain._ After a thousand years of battle, after Kain and the Abyss ... there was very little he feared. _I want this, Janos ... I need more ...._ His Whisper held echoes of that aching need, the relentless assault of spell-wrought caresses driving him to an near-painful edge, his cock hard and needy, imprisoned as it was by Janos’ fingers.

Janos gave that tormented organ one last, caressing stroke, and then Raziel’s cock was wrapped... in something else. A tight sheath, invisible as the bar his talons grasped, but silken and warm and pliant. And rippling -- a long, tight clasp that started at the base, worked its way up, a powerfully suckling draw that brought Raziel up onto his toes. And then... nothing, that delicious pressure simply gone, and Raziel couldn’t even press his cock against Janos’ belly for more sensation; he could feel nothing through the sheath. And then the undulating pressure began building once more at the base of him.

The Ancient cupped Raziel’s ass in both hands, firmly but as carefully as if Raziel were spun of glass, feeling hard muscle twitch in his palms. The tip of one talon -- strangely not feeling sharp, but rather smooth and rounded, as if the digit were capped in a slickly oiled coating -- ghosted lightly between, finding at last the tight little ring of muscle. Janos nuzzled his way to the curve of Raziel’s jaw, the soft place under the delicately-pointed ear, inhaled there, tasting the scents of open skies, sweet water, iron, cut stone. “Perhaps so, Raziel. But even still...” his breath was panted, his scent sharpened with desire, “...I shall not hurt you. Tsaa... easy now...” And the tip of his talon began slowly -- too damnably slowly -- to press inside, a slicked nudge, a smooth stretch, the breadth of a joint...

“Janos!” The name was an inarticulate plea, even as Raziel shuddered and thrust blindly, tormented past any shred of control or dignity. His voice was the sole thing left unfettered, even if those fetters were there only of his own volition--in all else he was bound in sensation and spell-wrought caresses, seduced into obedience.

Another rippling caress, stroking up his confined cock, and Janos’ finger breached Raziel completely, sliding to the first knuckle in a frisson of purest pleasure. The entrance to his body was tight, unaccustomed to such invasions, clenching around the invading digit in instinctive resistance--but without a shred of pain. To a creature accustomed to Kain’s razor-edged attentions, the chance to feel such pleasure without pain was a potent drug indeed; buoying him upward with a heady kind of exhilaration.

It took far too much time -- Janos as careful as if he prepared a relic, an artifact of sacrament, rather than one of the greatest undying ever to stalk the earth. Time and again, the tip of his finger or the knob of a joint slipped over that singular point of pleasure inside Raziel, but always so carefully, the touch never quite enough. Several times, Janos paused, and more of the slick substance was applied, spreading deep. A warm sensation gradually followed, a bright and cinnamon sensitivity, up through the core of him...

Soft-bladed feathers stroked Raziel’s sides, his half-flared wings, as Janos at long last withdrew his digit, the coating oils that clung there dissipating into the heated water. But the gathering heat lingered, building, and trying to twist or writhe against it only seemed to heighten the acuteness, that tortuously sweet rise of sensation. “Divine One,” Janos breathed, pressing one last kiss, open-mouthed, against Raziel’s arched and trembling throat. The feel of tender skin against the points of his fangs was a separate kind of fascination. “Let go... of the bar now... Raziel...” Janos managed, his intent as much Whispered as Spoken.

Caught in a luxurious haze of ecstasy, it took several moments for Janos’ plea to filter through Raziel’s lust-fogged senses. It was a hesitation that he undoubtedly would have been punished for, were Kain in Janos’ place--but even now, there was no apprehension, no tense anticipation of another’s capricious ‘mercy’. Just the desire to please, and be pleased in return ... With the prickling of anticipation, Raziel nodded blindly as he finally came to comprehend Janos’ request, unwrapping fingers from their grip upon the invisible support.

As Raziel’s hands came down lightly upon his shoulders, Janos lifted, the pale vampire’s body made light by the water. One of the accesses to the pool was but a few steps away -- a sloped and gradual incline, floored with a substance waterproof but softer than the tile that edged the rest of the pool. Trembling, Janos sank to his knees there in the shallower water, pressing Raziel back, murmuring as the body beneath his gave a convulsive twitch as wings were spread flat against the incline. Tiny bubbles of air jetted up from this surface, too -- they effervesced over the soft wing membrane, bubbled up along the sides. And the magical caresses faded not at all, permitted not a moment of respite.... Janos settled himself between Raziel’s spread thighs, his weight held carefully off, just admiring the splayed glory before him.

Driven by his own desperate need, Raziel reached downward--and then hesitated in a moment’s trepidation, his talons a finger-length from Janos’ eager--and so delicate--flesh. Carefully, so carefully, he slid his palm beneath that heavy, eager weight, the water eddying about their bodies ... and guided it forward, beneath the soft weight of balls and cock, shivering as the broad head nuzzled his well-slicked hole. “Please ... I need this,” he breathed, mouthing desperate words against one pointed ear, hips tilted in invitation. “Fill me, Janos, and make me whole once more ...”

The Ancient pressed his lips to Raziel’s throat, collar, the curve of his neck, as if those feather-light kisses might prove weight enough, binding enough, to keep Raziel stilled for this. “Yes, Raziel... easy....” The pressure was slow to build. Janos’ hands stroked down Raziel’s hips in a soothing caress, gentle counterpoint to the rippling clasp around his organ, to the fluttering, kneading touches upon his back, the oiled heat coiling inside. The stretch was blunt and gradual as he guided Janos in; his cock was thicker behind the head in a way that a human’s organ was not, harder, satin skin covering subtle raised ridges. Janos’ exhalations came in gasps, hot breath curling over Raziel’s wetted throat, as he fought for control.

Shadowed beneath the Ancient’s broad black wings, another blackness -- lightning-shot -- seemed to build, to rise in increments over Raziel’s skin.

It was as if he were surrounded by fire--the warmth of the water, the fever-hot touch of Janos’ skin and velvety heat of the Ancient’s erect flesh as it breached him, pushed inward and laid claim. Where Raziel was cool, Janos was warm; his heart still and silent and aching against the measured pounding of Janos’ heartbeat, the rhythm of the Ancient’s breath against Raziel’s skin. He felt as if he were sinking, drowning deep within the other vampire’s aura as it penetrated past flesh and bone, into the intangible void at his very core....

Eyes half-shut in bliss, Raziel arched upward, trying to draw Janos even further inward, greedy for more. _Yes ... this, yes ...._ His Whisper was almost inchoate, distracted by the spell-wrought caresses that seemed designed to drive away thought. Janos’ erection was not so formidable as Kain’s, but that hardly mattered--not when the other vampire had managed to possess every inch of him so thoroughly.

“Raziel...” a name, a designation of sanctity, a bare whisper on heaving breath. Janos caught Raziel’s wrists as those edged talons clenched unthinkingly at his flanks, soft fingers lacing between battle-worn as he pressed Raziel’s hands flat against the incline, held them there, palm to palm. Another tight and suckling squeeze up his shaft, Raziel’s body convulsing with it, and Janos pressed deeper, at last to the base. The Divine One’s body was a cool solace, was the rise of a midnight sun, consuming and consumed...

One of his nipping kisses drew blood, and then Janos did cry aloud -- for he could taste it across his tongue, could taste intensely the strange adumbral flow between them. Lapping the spilled drops from Raziel’s skin before the water could claim them, Janos withdrew a little, thrust back again, feverish with need.

A guttural cry escaped him as Janos sank deep, that velvet hot flesh dragging luxuriously at the innermost parts of him, only to withdraw. Taloned fingers curled in the air, held pinned by softer, weaker hands for the first time in all the centuries of Raziel’s unlife, and willingly so. For only a martyr or a madman would seek to escape such sweet torment, and in this moment, Raziel was neither.

Instead he arched upward, pleading with his body what he could no longer with his hands, meeting Janos’ every downward thrust with shuddering ecstasy and a fierce demand for more. Power crackled in the air, sparking along their conjoined flesh, the water lapping against Raziel’s spread wings as they shivered and flexed, held pinned against the incline.

Janos mouthed over the throat proffered beneath his lips. His hips found a rhythm slowly -- one harder than he’d intended, and yet every penetration seemed only to drive Raziel to plead for more, the wide-open telepathic link raw with it, alive with the intensity of need, of addiction. The Ancient’s wings fanned with the effort, with each gliding, heated ingress... and beneath their dark-feathered mantle, a film of lightning danced over the water around them, an oil-slick spread of energies too agitated to be entirely contained.

It was a slow and measured rhythm, as if Janos were measuring the depth of his penetration upon every downstroke--and it was driving Raziel into madness. With every thrust inward, he was jolted with pleasure; every slow drag outward left behind a tantalizing ache. The world had narrowed, fallen away, until it comprised nothing but this, the water around them, the brush of feathers against shivering skin and Janos over him, hot-eyed and intent, driving downward to claim him once more. Tiny helpless sounds escaped from his throat as Raziel writhed, caught on a precipice--knowing and dreading that *this* thrust would be the one, that *now* he would fall, burning himself into glory like a star ... and then Janos would withdraw, leaving him shaking with want once more.

Janos’ cupped wings shivered with each panted breath, with each increasingly-ragged thrust, the sodden feathers dripping diamond droplets of water which hissed as they interrupted the blanket of spilled energy which built around them both. It was a sintering kind of charge, an electrical hunger that ate at the margins of him, left him blind with it: the Ancient’s heat, and Raziel’s the Reaver’s void, and this... this event horizon between them. Pleasure was echoed, was redoubled, and Janos felt as if he were melting with it, as if his heart were robed in a furnace’s heat, as if he were trying to fly too close to the face of the sun. Feeling all that Raziel felt, weathering the storm around them, consumed with his own white-hot bliss... it was too much.

 _Raziel..._ Janos bent his head and mouthed the word against the cool porcelain of the Divine One’s shoulder, an inaudible imploration, a supplication, a devotion.

Perhaps it was the name ... or a touch, or a shift in position ... Raziel cuold not tell. But it was all that was needed. Blinded by need, Raziel arched, his hips snapping upward with desperate fervor--and then shattered into ecstasy with a hoarse cry, every muscle seizing, the heart of the storm they had created tearing him apart.

 _Janos!_

The building force of their combined energies sparked, roiling across the surface of the water like lightning. Janos thrust, and held deep, and Raziel shook under him with the fierce and aching intensity of his orgasm, inner muscles wrapped glove-tight upon that erect flesh.

Janos managed a small and shuddering thrust, then one more, and Raziel’s knees clamped hard upon his hips, stilling movement, cradling him, raising flowering bruises. And, like that, he came, heat emptying into Raziel’s cool body in spurts, and it felt like the world was breaking.

Wings slapping the water in uncoordinated, instinctual beats, Janos half-collapsed with a cry over Raziel’s arched body, feeling nothing but bliss, ecstacy like something that melted into his very bones.

Raziel’s come had only just spread between their bellies, his muscles had only just stopped seizing, save where the magical hands continued to torment the sensitive places of his wings... when the invisible grasp around Raziel’s spent cock began to tighten once more, a rippling suction.

Already spent, fine tremors shivering their way down every inch of his skin, Raziel would have sworn he had nothing more to give--and then that inexorable, relentless grip stroked down his fading flesh. With a plaintive, throttled cry, he arched into it, unable to draw away even if he wanted to, the relentless spell milking a last shuddering dry spasm from his flagging erection.

 _J-Janos ..._ The Whispered name escaped before he could call it back, an unspoken plea for respite. Kain had trained his firstborn well--to beg to be spared your lord’s attentions was ... unthinkable, regardless of the pleasure or pain they might bring. No, it was far better to endure, and hope that one’s suffering pleased a capricious sire ....

The plea, the longing, those were clearly conveyed, and Janos stirred gradually where he rested between Raziel’s spread thighs. He lifted a hand, ran the soft leather of his palm over Raziel’s hair -- gently, a feathery caress, soft counterpart to the kiss he laid upon the pale vampire’s exposed throat. Janos had to use the wrist-like joints of his wings to help push himself a little more upright.

The sheath of fine muscle still clenched around Janos, in shuddering little waves of tightness and of heat, as the thin coat of sensitizing oil set to work upon his own organ. Raziel’s cock -- so subtly different in texture, when Janos closed his hand upon it -- was just softening, and had clearly spilled seed, yet it still twitched in the Ancient’s grasp. The Reaver Guardian knew little of Raziel’s kind, and even less of their needs. _Raziel..._ Janos returned the Whisper, _...do you desire... more?_

Raziel’s expression tightened as another inexorable stroke squeezed his now-aching cock. He could feel the evidence of Janos’ own pleasure, still held deep inside him; was the Ancient not yet satisfied? Distant memories surfaced through the fog: of long, endless nights in which Kain had chosen to divert himself with the body of his firstborn, possessing it utterly, and educating Raziel most thoroughly about the exquisite agonies he could endure .... Kain’s own satisfaction had been slow in coming at such times, he knew.

Tremoring finely with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and unable to prevent a betraying flinch at another disembodied caress, Raziel turned his face into Janos’ gentle palm, baring his throat slightly. _I desire ... your pleasure, Janos ..._ And it was the truth. Janos was destined to suffer untold agonies for the sake of a messiah who could do nothing to save him. If the sacrifice of Raziel’s flesh for a time brought him pleasure, then he would count the effort well-spent.

Janos' wings were heavy, water-logged, their motions slow as he dragged them through the heated pool. Raziel's body gave a convulsive jerk, arching as if in enthusiastic need, and Janos laid his hands upon the pale vampire's flanks, thumb-talons splayed across his belly, stroking lightly. So fantastically responsive, and so lovely, every curve and plane of him as sharp as the Reaver’s, bones an angular elegance under satin skin.

Wondering if Raziel’s dusky nipples were sensitive, Janos slid his hands there, smoothing, touching. “How do you want me, Raziel? Here?” The invisible clasp around Raziel’s organ slowly gave another long squeeze, _...or here?_ abandoning one side of Raziel’s chest, Janos brought a talon to Raziel’s lips, midday blue upon midnight black.

Eschewing words, Raziel licked delicately at Janos’ taloned finger in invitation, savoring the faint salty taste of the other vampire’s skin, moist and redolent with life. Arching obediently into that touch, Raziel’s eyes slid shut as he allowed Janos to explore as he willed, his body open and oddly devoid of defenses. Against Janos’ care and concern, the ache of too-sensitive skin was nothing; Raziel could only hope that the softening of his tormented cock would not offend the Ancient as he sank into what seemed like nothing so much as a cocoon of liquid warmth, suffused with pain and pleasure alike.

Lifting his hands, no longer pinned by Janos’ will, Raziel settled them upon the other vampire’s hips, beneath those wings. Tentatively, unsure of Janos’ intentions, he rolled his hips subtly upward, deliberately tightening inner muscles around the cock still impaled deep within.

The Ancient sucked in a harsh breath. The tight pressure was a sensation silken and sharp, upon skin tender with heat and bliss. Raziel was so ready, so manifestly and clearly eager... and Janos would not deny the Divine One his pleasures. Slowly, the Ancient began to work himself out of Raziel’s wonderfully tight body, that rippling grasp. The little stretched hole twitched as the slicked organ slipped free, as if needing something more to clasp.

 _Both, Raziel...?_ Janos mused, thinking upon how it might be done. Some of Janos’ kind were like this, too -- needed both their partners for most complete satisfaction. He reached for the pale vampire’s cock, not without a moment of hesitation. It was a little less broad than before, the dusky-flushed skin softer and less taut, but even still, it was as thick as the base of Janos thumb-talon.

Another rippling clasp began, the magical touch passing under Janos’ own grasp, Raziel’s body shuddering. The Ancient stilled the magery with easy grace, reversed it... brought that tight and insubstantial band to settle instead at the base of Raziel’s cock.

A throttled groan escaped him as Raziel shuddered at the painful pressure around his softened flesh. _Please, Janos ..._ He licked his lips, mourning that he could no longer savor the taste of Janos’ skin. _Let me pleasure you, take you in and taste you ..._ The words were accompanied by sensations, impressions of heat and musk, sharp edged suckling pleasure around rising flesh ....

Those words were breathed into his mind, as lightly placed as feathers upon water, as incendiary as sparks into tinder, and Janos shivered. _Yes..._ he Whispered, stroking a hand over himself in the warm water to rinse away the tingling heat of the oil he’d pressed into Raziel. He laid his mouth lightly upon Raziel’s collar, tasting for himself the wet and satin-soft skin there over harder plated armor. _Easy, yes... come here, with me,... just so..._ the Ancient prompted, encouraged, as the pale vampire carefully reached to wrap his arms around the back of Janos’ neck.

It seemed as if it should be difficult to move Raziel, for he was as powerfully built as any terrestrial creature, and yet... like the Ancients, he was far lighter than he seemed, as if more than his bones was hollow. A little awkwardly, using wings to steady himself, he eased them both over, onto the flatter tile of the steps leading into the water. As Raziel was moved, a shower of trapped bubbles ghosted over the membrane of his wings, tickling counterpoint to the firmer, kneading touches upon the tender places of his back.

Water lapped at Janos’ hips. The Whisper was a soothing drone as the Ancient stroked his palms gently over Raziel’s water-slick hair, the back of his neck, guiding and prompting his trembling body into deeper water, between the Ancient’s spread thighs.

It was like drowning all over again, feeling the water rise up over his skin, sinking deep into the heat and Janos’ scent, ebony wings spread around them both. It felt like nothing so much as worshipping at the feet of one of the human church’s saints, a martyr exalted into something divine, a jeweled icon, glowing with mystery. Bending his head, Raziel kissed the delicate flesh upon the insides of those spread legs, the water rippling and furling about them with every subtle movement. Each touch, each delicate taste was a benediction, an offertory to everything Janos was, even as his own flesh quaked under the constant onslaught of sensation.

Nuzzling upward, Raziel tilted his head to rub one cheek against the velveteen-soft skin, a dark tongue flickering out to taste the crease between thigh and hip, achingly close to Janos’ cock ... but not quite. _Does this please you, Janos?_

Janos’ gasp was answer in and of itself. Raziel’s every touch was heavy with intent, placed with such fine and assured precision... as if the Divine One meant to drive him mad, one kiss at a time. His sky-hued talons flexed, gripping at the edge of the stair, as if he feared falling. _Ai -- oh... Raziel... yes...._ Janos’ breath caught again as Raziel found the patch of small, downy feathers -- wet now, but still so very soft -- with his tongue. Each tiny barb there was exquisitely sensitive to touch... another reverent kiss, and with a soft sound of desperation, Janos brought a hand, trembling, to the back of Raziel’s head. _Please..._

 _As you wish ...._ Allowing that grip to urge him upward, to the slowly-rising flesh that lay within that halo of dark down, Raziel greeted it with a delicate and oddly chaste kiss bestowed upon the very tip. Even that barest of touches seemed to urge Janos’ cock to new heights, and Raziel set himself to his taste with eager expertise, tasting the warm musk of that velveteen skin with tiny, exploratory licks--then, as Janos’ grip tightened upon him, changed tactics, and laved the burgeoning flesh with a long, slick sweep of his tongue from balls to blunt-capped head, learning its length and weight. Janos made a noise--its meaning too stifled to tell--and Raziel tilted his head a little, glancing upwards to gauge the Ancient’s reaction; then did it again, using the slick heat of his tongue to cradle and caress the sensitive underside of his prize, relishing the fraught pleasure so evident upon Janos’ face.

Despite himself, Janos’ gaze grew unfocused, his attention subsumed by subversive pleasure. Raziel, he realized dimly, Raziel was good at this, fantastically attentive, every slow lick and touch heavy with intent... skilled in a way for which Janos did not even have the words. Every slow sweep or tap of tongue was cool, as if wind-kissed, and so precisely placed... Raziel lingered over a place that only Janos’ mates had known; the touch gave rise to a tense sound of urgency which caught in Janos’ throat. He panted softly as Raziel paused, pale cheek and ear pressed against sky-hued skin beneath which pulsed a heartbeat as familiar to Raziel as his own unlife. And then Raziel returned to that spot, tonguing between the pair of ridges that girdled the head, along the underside. For the first time, all unknowingly, Janos applied pressure more than delicate to Raziel, his talons tightening in the Divine one’s silken hair.

The fleeting pain of those taloned fingers only spurred Raziel onward, as did the evidence of Janos’ enjoyment. The flesh upon which he was lavishing his attentions was now fully rampant, hard and eager, and it was with reverent care that he lifted a hand to cradle the soft and downy balls in one palm, caressing them. This, he knew, was something Kain oft enjoyed--his inscrutable Sire took great pleasure in having Raziel worship thus at his altar, and would often defer his own gratification for hours, all in order to relish the sight and feel of Raziel’s touch, his lips and tongue devoted solely to servicing his lord.

However, Raziel did not think Janos had the stamina for such games, even if he were inclined to them, and Raziel did not wish to turn the Ancient’s pleasure into torment. With that thought in mind, he changed tactics, and with a last slow lick trailing up the length of that dark-flushed cock, he parted lips to suck gently upon the head, savoring the mingled tastes of water and salt and seed. It was difficult to avoid an unchancy scrape of fangs, but the task was one that Raziel knew well indeed--and from the feel of the hard and eager flesh upon his tongue, Janos was quite enjoying the results.

Janos’ gasp was near as sharp as Raziel’s talons at the carefully stroking touches, the slow drag of ridged palm and fingers under delicate places. The anatomy was different, to a degree -- the soft and feathered flesh held closer to the body, less prominent. But the same kinds of careful attention served to drive Janos to rare distraction, to judge by the delicious little sounds he made, the muffled groans and sighs. He could not, it seemed, find the wherewithal to hold himself still in Raziel’s grasp, but rather twisted finely, a twitching kind of writhing, held only by Raziel’s free hand upon his hip and the press of those dark lips...

And then that severe mouth, those soft lips, closed over the tip of him and suckled. “Aa---ah! R... Raziel!” Janos swallowed hard. The Divine One’s tongue was a smoothly rolling pad, soft as God’s embrace, slowly exploring, he... he... Janos was letting greed take him, for certain! The Divine One, he... needed a... needed something....

Gradually, hesitantly, as if the caster fumbled the spellweave more than once, the water around Raziel’s hips... stirred, a tickling at his inner thighs, the planes of his ass, a ghostly-slick touch at the ring of his stretched little opening.

Raziel jerked in surprise at the unexpected and alien caress. He had been so focused upon Janos’ desires that he had not even given thought to how the Ancient might wish to reciprocate--and now he found himself caught, unwilling to abandon his ministrations even as the very water that cradled them both somehow … changed, solidified into a slick, yielding touch that pressed against his flanks, trailed teasingly down the line of his spine. It felt like nothing so familiar as fingers; and Raziel could not quite suppress a shiver of apprehension as the sensations brought forth the memory of wreathed tentacles and staring eyes. But--this was not the Elder God. This was Janos; vibrant with life, with warmth, the thrum of his heartbeat pulsing in Raziel’s ears, the taste of his skin and scent of his blood upon his tongue. Against the reality of the Reaver Guardian, a chance memory of that wretched squid held little power.

Deliberately relaxing, Raziel growled a little in pleasure, even as he sucked Janos in even deeper. It was difficult--Janos would not heal as instantly from any accidental wound--but he could not resist the temptation to allow that hard flesh to plunder deeper into his mouth, pressing against his tongue as he suckled fiercely.

As Raziel took more of him, Janos arched, pressing up from the hips, his sharp cry bitten short. Raziel’s tongue was clever in this purpose, never still, seeking always those places that made Janos gasp or jerk. Ancients did not often attempt this act, and were accordingly unpracticed and tentative in it, for their fangs were sharp as any Razielim’s. But the Divine One -- so good -- seemed to anticipate Janos’ writhing, to control it, and though the Ancient felt sometimes the cool ivory slickness of long teeth against his cock, there was no pain. Just that incredible tightness, the vibrating rumble, the fluttering tongue that teased him to the edge... “Ra... Raziel... I cannot....”

Independent now of its caster’s fractured will, the spell set about its task, implacable, settling from a slow caress to a blunt, water-slick nuzzling. Raziel’s careful relaxation made it easier -- pressure, an easy stretching, insertion, then something like a large bead slipping inside, warm as the water around him, hot against cool flesh. But there was little enough time to savor the sensation. Another hot, slick pressure, another larger bead, began to spread him.

Raziel keened low in his throat, and shuddered at this newest assault upon his senses. Even with the bindings about his cock, it was impossible to resist for long--he could feel his flesh hardening, the dull ache turning into a sharper edge of rekindled need. The second wet, slick sphere slipped in, stretching him further, and Raziel had to lift himself off of Janos’ cock long enough to pant--not out of any true need for air, but in helpless shivering pleasure at the trebled assault. No inch of his skin had been left unexplored, no soft vulnerability left unexploited … Raziel’s defenses had well and truly crumbled under Janos’ skilled spellweavings, like a fortress made of sand before an inexorable sea.

The knotted bead inside him retreated, stretching Raziel again, then like the tide returned, pushing deeper, another still larger one spreading him. It seemed to hesitate at the widest part, stretching, then slipped in, stirring the other two, which bumped and nuzzled against places that sparked lightning sensation. The watery strand of beads went taut a while, as if to be drawn free, and Raziel had to tighten himself, to keep them within -- then the tension eased, reversed, a still-thicker node of hot and semi-solid water began to force its entry.

Janos’ hands tightened on the back of Raziel’s head as he gasped protest at the sudden shock of hot water, cool air, the absence of soft and too-talented tongue. _Raziel... pl -- please...._

Shaking with purest sensation, Raziel returned to himself, reminded by the prickle of talons of his duty. _Forgive my inattention,_ he Whispered in apology, and once again bent his head downward.

This time there were no teasing caresses or licks; the dark, almost purple-flushed flesh slid easily between parted lips as Raziel took that cock in its entirety, suckling devotedly as if to atone for his lapse. Janos’ flesh was hot and heavy upon his tongue, flushed and warm with the scent and taste of blood and seed. It was easy to take more; difficult, in truth, to not take too much, to resist the temptation to spill a little of the tantalizing blood that pounded so close the the surface of thin, fragile skin. Only the utter distraction of the spell-wrought beads as they opened him, rolling against sparking nerves within, was enough to alleviate such a potent temptation as Raziel fitted his lips upon slickened flesh and took Janos deeper still, until the Ancient’s cock was fully encased within his mouth, the head nudging against his throat.

Janos was quaking now, the sounds that escaped his throat were primal. So... so incredibly good. The Ancients might use magic to approximate this act, but cantrips were nothing like substitute for this... for the sheer inventiveness, the skill, the beautiful responsiveness that stripped away every defence and every long-worn reservation as if they’d been woven of tissue. Where would -- how could -- Raziel had fangs, just as did the -- oh, by the *Wheel.* The tip of Janos’ organ had met the cool, soft flesh at the Divine One’s throat, and then the pale vampire did... did something that washed a vibrating exhalation over the head even as his tongue applied suction... a jagged bolt of hot white sensation seemed to burn up through the core of him, and Janos could think no more, could only come, crying out, talons prickling hard against Raziel’s scalp.

Like pieces of lace worn thin to breaking, the oldest of Janos’ spells had began to unravel, coming apart at the edges, tattering and attenuating. The firm rubbing against the base and joints of Raziel’s wings grew as erratic as Janos’ breath, now becoming nothing, now a shuddering and feathery caress. The stricture around Raziel’s cock loosened, tightened, loosened more.. But the knotted water magic pushed deeper, untiring, each bead sequentially larger. Sometimes one or two were drawn tortuously free, only to be inserted again, and followed by others still-larger. How may filled him now -- Eight? More? -- heating, rubbing, driving to madness. Another elastic orb, thicker than the base of a talon, nigh wrist-broad, pressed insistently at the still-taut little ring of muscle.

Raziel did not flinch, or draw away as Janos lost the last remnants of his control, but instead suckled even more fiercely, swallowing around the hard flesh, and drawing out the Ancient’s pleasure to the best of his ability. His own pleasure was so close, agonizingly so--and yet, at the same time, utterly unattainable as long as the spell-wrought binding about the base of his cock remained in place. Trained to obedience as he was, there was no protest he could make--he could only submit, muscles trembling with fine paroxysms of painful pleasure as he was mastered, filled, the soft flesh of his insides stretched around the liquid beads until he felt certain he could take no more ….

The newest, largest sphere pushed inexorably inward, stretching him painfully wide, and Raziel finally had to draw back, shaking as a guttural cry escaped his throat. It was too much, too deep--and yet, at the same time there was a dark pleasure in testing the limits of his endurance, his ability to withstand both pleasure and pain. After all, there was very little that could permanently injure a vampire--something Kain had proved upon the flesh of his progeny, time and time again.

Coming was like honey -- the way honey used to taste, before the fall -- bright and golden and enthralling, swamping the senses with sunlit bliss. Janos’ come, sparking with heat and power and and oddly fragrant, tasted not dissimilar. He’d not -- he’d never imagined -- how could it be so perfect, so fulfilling, without the triad... no. How could it be like this at all?

Gradually, Janos relaxed, his arched hips settling on the rough stair edge once more. He started a little as Raziel dared to brush his cheek against the satin skin of the Ancient’s’ inner thigh -- a nuzzling that followed the thick line of the femoral artery -- and Janos blinked, finding the frustration in that kindred golden gaze. Desperation too, perhaps, as the thickest yet of the knotted liquid beads was forced at last inside, jostling and pushing the others deeper still.

Trembling, Janos reached for him, drew his Messiah up to rest against the heated skin of the Ancient’s chest. The beads stirred, as if still another meant to press inside -- and Janos, stroking his hand calmingly down Raziel’s back, over his too-sensitive wingjoints, wrapped his talons around the half-substantial phallus, stilling its action. _What...? Easy, there Raziel; what do you...?_

Raziel shuddered at Janos’ touch, his sensitized skin turning what should have been pleasure into a new kind of torment. _Janos, I …_ When the words would not come, he resorted to more subtle stratagems, moving convulsively against the soft skin of hip and thigh, rubbing his bound cock against downy skin in a desperate plea for release. The rough edge of a glossy flight-feather rubbed against his ribs, and Raziel keened low in his throat, sensation piling upon sensation with no respite, no escape. _… please, I need …_

The planes of Raziel's buttocks felt like suede under Janos’ talons -- suede over stone, or steel, and yet giving in a way that seemed like neither. As the Divine One rocked against him, Janos’ fingers cupped and spread, across the curve, along the line where thigh met ass, between the hard grades of muscle where the phallus penetrated. The beads still outside Raziel’s body were large, heavy, swaying lightly in the currants stirred by the two vampires’ slow writhing.

And then, Raziel exhaled, that low and grating sound suffused with pleas even Janos could hear. One arm tight around Raziel’s back, stilling him as well as the Ancient was able, Janos reached between them, traced hip and belly, found silken flesh... and painfully hard cock, the skin taut and tender, the insubstantial and confining band -- sized more properly for Ancients -- a tangible constriction. It should not be -- he should not have allowed it to grow so tight! With a soft gasp of his own, Janos curved his fingers around the abused organ with great care, and then dispelled the binding.

As the pain of sudden relief coiled to life, ratcheting tight and then tighter, Janos began to stroke up the length of Raziel, lightly, water slicking his grip.

A hoarse cry escaped his throat, Raziel arching into Janos’ grip as the brutal binding about his erection disappeared. The sharp needled pain of that release was instant and inescapable--as was his need, pent up for far too long. Those soft-skinned and clever fingers clasped him, stroked tenderly just once, then twice--and Raziel came, clenching hard about the water-beads and shuddering with the effort, his cock jerking convulsively within the clasp of Janos’ fingers as pain transmuted into agonized pleasure, and the world fell away. His climax was inescapable, brutal … a merciless and ecstatic anguish that stripped him away from the prison of his own flesh, cradled within Janos’ embrace as if it were the only solid thing remaining in the world.

It was glorious … and then, inevitably, it began to fade, the tide of his pleasure receding to leave him hollowed out and languid upon the shoals.

Janos held him as Raziel convulsed with the intensity, as he cried out, until the feverish movements stilled to shivers. As relaxation took hole of the pale vampire, leaving him splayed across Janos’ chest, the Ancient drew his hand from between their bodies, lazily brought it to his mouth, tasted the metallic-white fluid that clung to his skin. It tasted... different, more akin to Raziel’s blood than to seed, heavy with metals, rich with spilled power, strangely electric....

Raziel stirred, just faintly, and Janos returned his hand to the string of half-substantial beads. A little concentration, and the largest of the glassy-clear beads -- those still outside Raziel’s stretched ass -- returned to the water from which they’d been woven, melting away like ice in the hot water. As for the ones still inside.... The Ancient’s Whisper was a low susurration. _Easy, Raziel... remain relaxed, just so, for me... there...._ The beads had been made more pliable, more flexible, but there was still a bulk to them, as Janos withdrew them slowly from Raziel’s body.

Raziel could not help the belated shivers at the feel of those spheres finally leaving him, pulled one by one past the ring of muscle that resisted instinctively, trying to keep them inside. But that was all the response he could muster as he lay languidly upon Janos, enjoying the gentle lap of warmed water around them and the Ancient’s gentle touch. “The vagaries of fate are truly strange,” he murmured. “I never once imagined we would ever have the chance to take such pleasure in each other.” He wondered idly what would Vorador have thought of this--the offspring of an upstart Kain daring to lay hands upon his Sire, the last of the Ancient race? Would the old hedonist have been appalled or intrigued by such blasphemy?

The beads dissolved like they’d never been, and the water’s buoyancy made Raziel’s weight a pleasant one. Janos could hear his own heartbeat, feel it reflected from the unnatural density of Raziel’s skin. Nearly as drained as the Divine One, Janos could muster little more movement than simply to breathe, to stroke his talons idly from Raziel’s folded wingjoints, over the small of his back and the plane of his buttocks. “Vagaries? Perhaps so,” Janos said after a few moments, tilting his head back a little to savor the warmth of the water across his scalp. Before much longer, though, his talons would surely begin to wrinkle. Thinking of warm and close-nestled places, with plenty of pillows for the propping up of wings, he began to wrap himself and Raziel both in the binding sensation that preceded teleportation -- while Kain’s use of that magic had ‘felt’ like being wrapped in ribbons or coarse rope, this was more akin being cocooned in feathers. “Though it seems a long time indeed, since the fates offered up such clemency as this....”

Raziel closed his eyes, obliquely reassured at the sensation of Janos’ magic as it rose up about them. “I shall give thanks, then, that time is not as immutable as I once had thought,” he murmured. He shifted, curling in order to better fit his body against the planes and angles of Janos’ own. “I owe you more than I shall ever be able to repay …”

Janos laid his talons gently on the back of Raziel’s neck. His mouth was set in a line unfathomable, an unreadable tangle of too many expressions. With a quiet sigh of displaced air, both men vanished, leaving the steam and the water to flood over the space where they’d been.


End file.
